Saturday, December 26, 2015

Which is even warmer than a Hunk-a-Hunk-a Burnin' Christmas. It's Day II of the three-day Christmas Weekend Super-Beer Mega-Blast, the boys from Sheer Mag have returned from Europe - where they did 49 shows in 50 days - the turkey's been eaten, the wine's been consumed, and here's my head-throbbing morning-after report:

1. The Yankees won't do anything this weekend. They probably won't lift a phone until spring training, when the last available free agent trainwreck looks to hook-up with some team, any team. Two years ago, we snagged Brian Roberts. Last year, it was Stephen Drew and Chris Capuano. We'll snag somebody, sure as my hands are shaking at the keyboard. But not today.

2. With the savings from Yankee payroll, Hal Steinbrenner for Christmas gave each of his relatives a small-but substantial South American country. At one point, last night Hal was awoken to the sound of chains and human howling, as his doorknocker assumed the swollen face of old George, after having eaten a race horse. It turned out to be not the Ghost of Yankees Past, but Randy "Fright Wig" Levine, out on an Ibogaine bender. They gave each other hoverboards.

3. The Yankee fan base is quiet today, fortifying itself for a long, seething, angry, soul-collapsing 2016 season. It's going to be wild. When I think of what has happened to this sorry franchise - and I want this made clear: The Yankees did NOT make the post-season last year; they lost a playoff game that would have ALLOWED them entrance to the post-season - I wonder when the clams at the top will finally pop open. This year, the Yankees lost NYC the Mets. Next year, they could lose the AL East to the Redsocks. Thirty years after 1986 - the lowest ebb in World Series history - we might be going there again. Merry effing Xmas. If I can find my sandals, I'm going out for a walk.